


One Step

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, I need answers, WHAT HAPPENED TO MOTHER SHELBY, and i've decided to solve it myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: Charlie Strong loved her. He loved her, even though she was never his to love to begin with.And that was the end of everything.A look at the relationship between Charlie and the Shelby mother, who he loved and lost. Compliant through 5x06 and the conversation between Charlie and Tommy.
Kudos: 6





	One Step

**Author's Note:**

> first off, in this house we love and respect Charlie Strong. i started writing this while rewatching the series during the election to cope. It's been my baby ever since. 
> 
> so canon notes - i know we've gotten really conflicting remarks in regards to how the family tree works out. for the purposes of this fic (and my sanity) it is as follows - 
> 
> Charlie Strong is the bastard eldest son from Birdie Boswell, who then married grandpa Shelby and had Arthur Sr and Pollyanna. This makes Charlie a 'Strong' through his father's side, the half brother of those two, and keeps Polly's maiden name of Shelby. No idea if it's kosher but it's the only way we keep Charlie as an uncle and doesn't involve incest. Fun! 
> 
> I think their mother died in 1909, hence the warning tag. Based on the ages found on the wiki, the kids are as follows - Arthur 22, Tommy 19, John 16, Ada 14, and Finn 1. 
> 
> That's all I have for now. Please enjoy!!

**1900**

“Mum’s doing it again,” Tommy remarked, standing on the doorway. Charlie glanced up, wiping the sweat from the forge off his forehead. Tommy was barefoot, the hem of his pants a little too high on his ankles. The kid outgrew his clothes in the span of hours these days. 

“Doing what?” Charlie demanded gruffly, reaching for another cigarette. 

“Crying.” Tommy didn’t shift. Arthur and John, they remained in perpetual motion at all times. Tommy had mastered staying still. Charlie appreciated it; he was less likely to spook the horses. “All day. She won’t stop.” 

“Tell your father,” he grumbled. 

“Haven’t seen him in a week and a half.” 

“Tell Aunt Polly.” 

“She’s working.” 

“Why are you telling me?” Charlie demanded, straightening up and facing him in exasperation. Tommy just regarded him from his cool blue eyes. 

“Because you’re the only one who can do something.” Tommy folded his arms. “Please, uncle Charlie.” 

Well, the kid did know how to get to him. Charlie sighed heavily. He had things that he needed to melt down before anyone came looking from them, but he knew from experience that Tommy wouldn’t leave until Charlie went with him or Charlie beat him unconscious. He’d never known a child to be more determined than Thomas Shelby, even at the age of ten. The child would die before he gave up. 

“Go on then,” he ordered shortly and Tommy led, stepping through the mud and shit without minding. Back to Watery Lane they went, Charlie smoking and silently cursing the entire way. The house was in an uproar the instant they walked in - John was in the kitchen, wailing. Ada was trying to tend to him, patting the cut on his forehead. Arthur was missing, likely the cause of the injury John was sporting. 

Tommy ignored all of this, leading Charlie right to the back bedroom. Charlie stopped in the doorway, raising his eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer for something - he wasn’t quite sure what. Then he looked down at Tommy and gave a little nod. Tommy opened the door and then stood back, refusing to enter. Charlie pushed past him. 

She was lying in the bed, covers up over her head. The room was dark and smelled of smoke and alcohol and sweat. He went to the window and yanked back the curtains, allowing light to spill into the room. There was a weak cry from the direction of the bed that he ignored. Then he went to get the ashtray and tossed its contents out promptly. He let it drop on the bedside table with a loud clatter, which brought two eyes over the edge of the blanket. 

Tommy inherited his mother’s eyes. Blue as a summer sky and as cutting as a winter wind. Right now, they were rimmed red, her dark hair messy about her head and her skin pale and tight. She looked like a ghost. He’d seen her like this before. He’d probably see her like this again. So he simply folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at her, unable to stop himself from softening slightly. 

“Charlie,” she whispered softly when she realized who it was and he shook his head. 

“You have to get up, Regina.” he used her proper name. To show her how serious he was. 

“I can’t.” she went to draw the covers back up over her head; he caught her hand and pulled it back down. 

“You have to,” he said firmly. “You’ve got four kids, Queenie. Someone’s got to mind them and it won’t be me, so get the hell up.” 

“He’s not coming back,” she whispered, more tears filling up her eyes. “I’ve lost him.” 

“You know my half brother as well as I do,” he said, rather shortly. “He’ll be back. He always comes back.” 

He hated to see her cry over him. He’d hated it, since he’d seen her for the first time on her wedding day, dressed in beautiful white, a trembling little smile on her face. She’d been a vision, an angel sent down from on high. Sent down to marry his devilish half brother, who broke her spirit like one did a horse. Turned her from a wild, lovely thing into this. Broken and crying. 

“I’m alone,” she told him, curling in on herself. “I’m all alone, Charlie.” 

“No, you’re not.” he bent down, hauling her up. She was lighter than she should be, easy for him to lift and set on her bare feet. “You’ve got your kids, you’ve got Polly, you’ve got Curly.” 

“And you.” she leaned against him, her whole body shivering. “I have you, Charlie.” 

“Aye, you have me.” he wrapped her in her robe then pushed her hair back. She was still so lovely, even now. Even after all this time. He felt the familiar pinch in his heart, the same one he’d felt all these years. Watching her from afar, never more than the bastard brother in the scrapyard. He’d tried to find someone else, tried to fuck his way out of love. But it never mattered. She was Regina Shelby. 

And he loved her. 

“I must go on,” she muttered, tying her hair back with shaking hands. “The… The children. For the children.” 

“Aye.” he handed her a cigarette and lit it. After a few drags, she appeared to regain control of herself. There was a resolved set of her mouth and she looked up, giving him a little nod. Christ, did Tommy look like her. 

“Charlie,” she said, when he was about to bow out and leave. He paused and looked back, startled to find her so close. She reached up, her small hand resting on his cheek. He briefly closed his eyes at her touch. “Thank you.” 

“John has a cut.” he drew back, trying to put distance between the two of them. Then he was gone. 

* * *

**1907**

“I would kill him,” Polly seethed. “I wish I had a big, sharp knife. I’d cut his cock right off. What the fuck is he thinking, coming here? Doing that, again? To her? To all of us?” 

“Polly,” he grunted, in the middle of moving heavy boxes. “Help or shut the fuck up, will you?” 

“Christ.” Polly went to grab the other end of the crate, helping him stack it. “Am I the only one who cares?”

“So we’re having another Shelby running around here,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes. “The fuck it matters to me? I’m a Strong, Pollyanna.” 

“You had Birdie as your mother, same as he and I and you're no bastard, not to me.” Polly sat down heavily atop the boxes. “What are we going to do, Charlie? You know how she gets after she’s had the babies. I’m worried about her.” 

“She’s had four. It’s been fine.” 

“And what about the fifth?” she snapped. “What if this is the one to break the fragile grip she has on reality, hmm? You’re a man, you’ve no idea what it’s like when you have a baby. She’s not well in the best of times. And now that Arthur has run off again to some brothel or whorehouse, she’ll lose her mind entirely. Again!” 

“She’s got Ada to help her,” he muttered. “And the boys are old enough.” 

“The boys.” Polly threw her hands up. “Arthur as bad as his father, for the drinking and the women! John’s already chasing skirts. And Tommy…” she trailed off, worrying her lip. He could see her mind ticking behind her dark eyes. “I don’t know about Thomas. And now a baby!” 

“Well, we have to figure it out Pol. We always do.” he sat across from her, briefly holding her hand. 

“I worry.” Polly’s eyes were filled with tears. “She’s not right. she hasn’t been right in a long time. I thought she was getting better but then that devil came back and now…” she buried her face into her hands.

To see Polly cry was still an unusual thing for him. For as long as he’d known her, and that was almost her entire life, Polly was more prone to rage than sadness. She held onto a grudge like a man with a bottle. She had a wicked tongue on her and could throw a punch better than most men. But since her children had been taken, she’d cried more than she’d screamed lately. 

He missed Sally and Michael. And he hated how horrible things for Polly had been. Nearly a year after the fact, she was still grieving. They all were. And now, with Queenie pregnant and the senior Arthur Shelby nowhere to be found yet again, Charlie could about imagine how it was going to all go. Once again, he and Polly were left to clean up the mess their brother had made. 

“It’ll be alright,” he tried to convince her. “The boys are running the betting shop. They’re making a name for themselves, though I’m not sure that’s all that reassuring. We’ll keep it together Pol. We always do.” 

“Fuck,” she muttered, pushing the heel of her hands into her eyes. “Fuck. You’re right. No crying now, just time to get on with it.” Polly rose, shaking the coal out of her skirts. She looked ragged; he wondered when she’d last gotten a full night’s sleep. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” he muttered. “I’m going up north for a few days.” 

“Can I send Arthur with you?” she asked, half joking and half not. “I think he’s looking for his father at the bottom of every whiskey bottle in Birmingham.” 

“I’ll take the help,” he replied. He needed to get away for a few days. He couldn’t stand to see Queenie, not now. Not in this state. If it was as bad as Polly said, then… 

“I’d send Thomas with you as well. That boy.” she shook her head. “Too much cleverness, I’d swear on it. I’ll send them both round in a bit. You’ll wait for them?” 

“The fuck I’d go before, eh?” he handed her a cigarette and then one for himself, lighting both. 

* * *

**1908**

“We’re calling him Finn,” Ada told him, grinning as they walked to the house. Ada was skipping, Charlie was taking his sweet time. “Arthur says he looks just like him, but I don’t think he looks like anything at all, save a baby.” 

“All babies look the same,” he muttered, while Ada laughed. “Why am I coming round now, huh? I’ll come and see him when he’s learned to talk like the rest of you.” 

“There’s a surprise.” Ada was grinning at him. Granted, she had the most cheerful disposition of anyone in the family. But this was too much, even for her. 

“What fucking surprise?” he asked warily. He hated surprises. He wanted to stay well away from all of them. 

“You’ll see!” Ada skipped on up the lane, opening the front door and disappearing inside. He sighed and followed her, bitterly wishing for a drink or something else to make him forget all of this. 

The entire family was gathered in the house. Apparently, the birth was an event not to be missed. He hung back until Polly spotted him and clapped, dragging him to the front. Queenie was sitting in a chair, looking tired but pleased. For the first time, he saw the light in her eyes again. She looked content. She looked happy. She looked like the girl she’d been when he’d fallen in love with her. 

“Charlie’s here,” Polly revealed and he gave an awkward tip of his hat. He wasn’t sure how one comported themselves around a newborn baby. 

“Good,” Queenie said with relief, holding out the bundle of blankets out to him. He started at her, flabbergasted, until Polly nudged him forward. 

“Go on, have a turn. Everyone else has.” 

“I don’t hold babies, he reminded her, panicked slightly. He usually waited until they could survive being dropped, just to be on the safe side. 

“Well, this is your namesake, so go and hold him,” Polly stated bossily, handing him the baby. He froze, looking down at the tiny little thing, then up again at Queenie. She gave him a rather wane smile. 

“Finn Charles Shelby,” she said quietly and he felt the unexpected prick of tears behind his eyes, looking back down at the little baby. One named after him. He’d never felt this strange, stirring emotion as he looked down at the boy. Like he would do anything. Even more than any of the other children. In an odd way, Finn… Felt like his own. 

“He’s…” he trailed off. Words weren’t enough. He hardly registered Polly’s hand on his shoulder, enamored with Finn. 

“Everything will be alright,” Polly whispered in his ear. It was said like a prayer, like a promise. “Everything will be alright. It’s all going to be fine.” 

* * *

**1909**

“She’s doing it again.” yet again, Tommy stood in the doorway, regarding Charlie. A few things had changed in the near decade since he'd started this tradition. For one, he had shoes. And for another, his pants actually fit him. He wore his cap with the razor in the brim, but his stare was still as hard as it had been as a boy. 

“Who’s doing what?” Charlie regarded his current work, mostly ignoring Tommy. It wasn’t like they both didn’t know what was happening. And they both didn’t know what was going to happen now. 

"The King. He's stopped by for some tea." 

"Put the kettle on then," Charlie grunted and there was a long enough pause that he looked up to see if Tommy had left. He hadn't; he was still standing there, as cold as he'd ever been. 

"She's scaring the baby," he said finally. "Ada's taken him round to Polly's to avoid it all. She's throwing things, saying the spirits are telling her to. She hasn't stopped drinking." 

"Christ, so what do you want me to do?" Charlie threw down a shovel, turning to face Tommy properly. Tommy hadn't even flinched. 

"You're the only one who gets through to her when she's like this. She'll just call me a changeling or the devil." for the briefest of seconds, he thought he saw something like pain flash across Tommy's face. Then it was gone again. "Before she hurts herself, Charlie." 

"Yeah, alright." 

He hated this. He hated it more than anything. He hated the walk to Watery Lane. He hated going through that front door. He hated seeing the house that was his brother's, now somehow made worse by his ongoing absence. And he hated, worst of all, the way that whenever he saw Queenie, his heart still broke. 

She was so beautiful, even when she was huddled in a corner in a nightgown, shaking. Around her were the shards of shattered plates and glasses and he saw the splatter of blood running down the outside of her leg, likely cut. She had her head in her hands, muttering and weeping in equal turns. 

"Mum," Tommy said loudly and Queenie cringed, lifting her arms up over her head as though to protect herself from his tone. 

"Regina," Charlie said, his usually gruff tone softening as he pushed away the debris with the side of his foot so that he could crouch down by her without hurting himself. "What's it now?" 

"They see me," she whispered, anguished. "They see me, Charlie. They can... They can see things. Through me. They know me. They know my sin!" 

"Who does, love?" he caught her hands, rubbing them. They were like ice; no wonder she was shivering. He wondered the last time she'd been properly warm. 

"The spirits. The saints." she briefly closed her eyes, like that would give her solace. "They see me for who I am." 

"Aye and that's a woman who'll catch the death of her if she doesn't put on something." he managed to work himself into the position where he could sweep her legs out from under her and she collapsed into his waiting arms. He stood quickly, before she could regain her balance. "C'mon, Regina." 

"How do you do it?" she asked him, as he carried her towards her bedroom, leaving behind Tommy and his all-seeing eyes. "How do you walk with the ghosts, Charlie? How do you see them and not feel... Everything?" 

"No ghosts," he told her, shutting the door behind him. He set her down on the bed, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. The room smelled stale, like she hadn't cleaned it in awhile. He saw the remnants of a daughter who was trying to care for her mother - an undrunk cup of tea beside the bed, a nice dress laid out over the chair. Ada was doing her best, but she was just a girl still. 

"I don't want to be in here," she complained to him but didn't move from the bed. 

"Why's that?" he grunted, only half listening now. He would use the tea to wash a rag and then clean off her leg, see how deep the cut was and if it'd need attention. 

"They're trapped in here, same as me. Together, we sit and we fall deeper." she suddenly looked exhausted, so much older than her 30-some years. "Trapped. Trapped, trapped, trapped." 

"You're not trapped," he reminded her, cleaning away the blood. She hardly seemed to register it, staring off at a point in the mid-distance. 

"If I go, would you come with me?" she asked idly and he stopped, looking up at her, heart in his throat. What did she mean? Leave Watery Lane, Birmingham, what? Or something else, something more, based on that glassy look in her eyes? 

"Where are we going, love?" he asked, once his throat had unstuck. Decades now, he'd known her. Yet somehow, one thing and she made him feel like a boy again. 

"Away." she gave a little shiver and he realized that he'd cleaned off her leg, showing that the cut was nothing more than a scratch. "Far, far away." 

"And leave the yard, to what? To Curly?" he was trying to make her laugh, touching her chin to make her look up. "To Arthur, to Tommy? Fuck, there'd be nothing left by the time we came home." 

"There is no home, not for us," she whispered. "Our home is hell, bound and delivered. We made the nails, Charlie. For the cross. And from that moment, we sealed our fate. The damned." 

"You're scaring the children." he threw the rag aside and resisted the urge to scream. She was in a fit, that was all. Didn't know the words coming out of her mouth. She'd never loved him, he was a fool for thinking so. And she never would. "The talk of spirits and ghosts, you're spooking them." 

"They'll see them soon enough." she raised her hand, as though she was going to stroke the head of an unseen child at her bedside. "We all do. The gift, the curse. Two sides of a coin Charlie, you and me. They'll see them. Thomas already does." 

"Don't tell him that." he thought of the dark look on his nephew's face, the cold and calculating eyes. Polly always said he had his father's devilment. Arthur had his vices, John his temper, and Ada his charm. But Thomas. There was more to him. 

"It's just a step," she whispered, looking up at him with the queerest expression on her face. "A step. One place to the next. We just... Step." 

"Regina. Don't say that." fear made him go cold, made him want to shake and shiver like she did. He knew the step she meant. It was the step her father had taken, into a loch deep up north. He'd never come back up. It was the first time she had come to him, sobbing and keening with grief, and the emotions of it all had made her go into labor. 

With Thomas, the boy named for her father. 

He left off trying to get her dressed or to clean up the room and instead just went to hold her. Pulled her into his arms, rocking back and forth. He couldn't lose her, not that way. She was so beautiful, so fragile, so dangerous. The idea of her going somewhere that he could not follow... It was unbearable. 

"We'll go somewhere," he found himself whispering, kissing her head and rubbing her back. "To the fair. Get you some clean air, some sun. See the trees, yeah? You'll be free. The spirits can't get you there. You need to remember who you are, Regina." he pulled back and peered into her eyes, the sky blue. She was a child of the gypsies. She wasn't meant to be hidden away in a horrible, grimy city. 

"Will it get better?" she asked, childlike in her need for reassurance. He stroked her hair, feeling as though his heart was going to break all over again, like it always did with her. 

"It will," he promised, not believing the words in the slightest. "It will." 

* * *

"Charlie! Charlie!" Ada came running into the scrap yard, darting and leaping over things. "Mum's back! Come see!" 

"Come see what?" he asked, in the middle of having his lunch. Ada nearly plowed him over, grinning from ear to ear. So things had gone well then. 

"It's a surprise." Ada's eyes gleamed with happiness. "Come on, Charlie!" 

"Alright then, christ." he got up, leaving his food and his tea behind. Whatever this was, at least it seemed more cheerful than whenever Tommy came and got him. 

She didn't lead him back to the house, but rather out of the city towards the pasture. Perhaps her mother had come back in a wagon. He'd sent her away with some of his kin on the boats. He hadn't gone with. He only had so much self control. But he had wanted her to get better and this seemed to be the only way to do it. 

"Charlie!" so this was where Curly had gotten off to. He was standing at the edge of the pasture with Polly, who was holding Finn. They both had grins on their faces and Polly looked years younger for it. "Look!" 

"What is it then, what's the fuss?" he questioned, reaching for another cigarette. The fuss became apparent when he reached the fence, standing on the lowest rung to look in. 

The first thing he registered was the way John and Arthur were standing. They were usually spinning and running about, damaging themselves before anything else. But now they were still, watching across the pasture with reverence. And there, in the middle, in a dress as golden as the sunset, was Queenie, laughing and beaming, hair rippling in the wind as she spun to keep her eyes on Tommy.

He was riding a white pony, beautiful and limber. The beast was as white as pure snow, tossing its head and prancing. Tommy was on the back with no saddle or bridle, completely at ease. All the Shelby children rode well, but none better than Tommy. He used to sleep in the pasture and the stables as a boy, whenever the atmosphere of the house got too bad for him. He was a born rider, a natural in the way only a gypsy could be.

"Hullo Charlie." Tommy rode up to them, smiling. Charlie hadn't seen him smile much lately. He'd nearly forgotten. "Hand me up Finn, Pol." 

"Tommy, he's a baby," Polly chided, as Arthur and John walked over. 

"Ah, he's a Shelby. If we don't get dropped off a horse at least once before we're two, what's the fucking point?" Arthur asked and Polly handed over the baby. Tommy placed him on his lap and held him there, nudging the horse into a walk while Finn shrieked with glee. Tommy went once round the pasture with him then brought him to their mother, so that he could kick the horse into a gallop.

"You look better," Charlie observed, when Queenie walked over. She was beaming, properly, the light back in her eyes. Finn bounced in her arms, babbling and waving fat fists. 

"Fresh air," she said with a knowing smile. "Sunshine. It cleaned my head right out, Charlie."

"Good." he always softened around her. He couldn't help it. She was so lovely and now that she was alright, back to being the happy girl he knew and loved so well, he almost believed everything was going to be fine. "So. Stolen then? Or did you charm some poor soul out of it?" 

"The horse?" she looked over her shoulder, watching with a smile as Tommy made another pass. "A gift. For Thomas. It's high time he has a proper one of his own." 

"Mhmm." he made a noncommittal noise. It was a beautiful horse and it wasn't the first time he'd had such a creature in his stables under such unclear circumstances. He was just glad that she'd found something to make her smile again. And to stop talking about spirits and crosses and the darkness she'd talked about stepping into. 

"Are you glad I'm back?" she asked him, a knowing yet coy smile on her face. Finn bounced on her hip. He looked like Arthur had as a baby, back when Queenie had hardly left childhood herself. 

"Course I am," he scoffed, unwillingly to allow himself anything else. She knew, because of course she did, a damned witch if there ever was one. But she was still someone's wife. His brother's wife. Nothing changed that. 

"Me too." something lingered there in the corners of her mouth, something that stole his breath away. Then she turned back to the horse and her son and for a moment in the bright summer afternoon sunlight, Charlie let himself dream that this moment was all theirs. 

* * *

"CHARLIE! CHARLIE!" the screams startled him, though he'd never allow himself to admit it. In the scrapyard, the bangs of guns were commonplace. John and Arthur had blown things up more than once. It was not the noise that worried him. It was the sheer, wild desperation in the screams. 

The last time he'd heard Polly scream like that, her children were being ripped from her arms. 

He was running without even thinking about where he was going, mind full of visions of Finn being torn away by the parish, Ada shoved in the back of some wagon, crying. That was the last thing they needed. That was the last thing that Queenie could handle. Polly could hardly do it and she was a Shelby, full of spite and rage. 

He collided with her halfway across the yard, fear making his heart beat too fast. Polly looked crazed, eyes too wide and unseeing. He grabbed her wrists, giving her a little shake to try and bring her back to the present, so that she could tell him what the hell was happening. 

"Who is it, huh Pol?" he demanded. "Who?" 

"Queenie - she - canal --" Polly wasn't getting the whole of the words out properly, but it was enough for him. He released her and she took off running again and he was hot on her heels. 

Queenie was standing at the edge of the canal, head tilted up to the sky. He didn't need more than a second to know what was happening. The step, just one tiny little step, and then... 

Terror made him quick. One hand darted out and caught her wrist, yanking her back, and hard. The second she was away from the ledge, he got the other one around her waist and pulled her flush against him, bracing himself for one of her wild struggles, the way she tried to pull herself free and fought him tooth and nail to do so. But this time, she did nothing. She was limp. 

"I'm taking her back to mine," he told Polly quietly, while the rush was still making him think clearly and fast. "No one can see her like this, Pol." 

"No. No." Polly was trembling head to toe. They both knew that if anyone saw that Queenie was ready to harm herself, the church would have grounds to take all the children not of age. John might be able to stay. But they would take Ada and Finn without hesitation. "Take her, Charlie." 

"The children, Polly," he reminded her loudly and Polly finally focused on him, blinking away the glassy look in her eyes. "Mind the children. Get them out." 

"Yes, the children," she repeated, nodding. "I'll... I'll take them to the fair. Yes. To see their family. Yes. The fair." 

"Go. Now," he urged and Polly took off again, in the opposite direction he did. She'd take them to the fair, keep them away for a couple days. He just needed a few days. To talk to her, to get her back on straight. To make her see that she had to stay. For them, for Polly. 

For him. 

He'd never had her in his place alone before. He'd always been careful to have someone else there. The kids or Curly, to keep him in his place. To remind him that she was not his for the taking, not ever. But tonight it was just them, he the bastard brother with the scrapyard and she the broken gypsy princess, silent and still. 

He left her at the kitchen table to make them tea. He didn't dare put her somewhere he couldn't see her, for fear she'd sneak off again. He'd never seen her at the edge of the cut before but he knew her intent. The same as her father's had been. A step. One single step then to the other side she'd go. He was sick with the thought of it. 

"I have to go, Charlie," she said hoarsely, when he set the tea in front of her. 

"You're not going anywhere." he'd lock her in if he had to. "Polly's taking the kids to the fair. You'll stay here with me, get better before they see." 

"There is no getting better." she said it so matter-of-factly. So easily, like that's all there was to it. 

"You were," he reminded her, pleading with her. "Worcester, the pony, Tommy riding it, remember? You were getting happier Regina. It's all going to be alright, it's all going to get better." 

"I don't belong here, Charlie." she leaned forward, cupping his cheek with a watery smile. She looked ethereal in the dim light, a wisp of something magical from another world. 

"Then we'll go traveling," he replied, leaning forward so their foreheads touched. "Take the kids, or not. I'll go with you this time, I'll..." the words trailed off, unspoken. He'd love her this time. Fuck his brother and his family and the parish and anyone who might say anything at all. He loved her. He'd tell her, they'd make this right, and then things would get better. 

"On Earth, Charlie. I don't belong on Earth," she told him, closing her eyes. "It's too hard, being here. It's too hard, it's too much. If I go back Charlie, if I go back then... It's easier. It's all easier."

"Not for me it isn't," he whispered and somehow his arms were around her neck and pulling her closer. "Losing you, if you go there, Regina, I..." 

"It should've been you, Charlie." the words made him pull back, soft and sweet from between her lips. He stared at her like he'd been clubbed over the head, baffled at the admission. Surely she didn't mean... 

"What?" he sounded strangled, even to his own ears. 

"I married him because I thought it would set me free." she closed her eyes again, like she was reliving it, like she was 16 and a bride again. "I thought I wanted to get away from my family, that it would be alright, that it was all some fairytale. He looked so handsome, on our wedding day. It was alright, for a night. Do you remember the first time we saw each other? At the reception. He was dancing with another woman. And I was dancing with Polly. I thought it was going to be fine. And then you cut in and took my hand and you whirled me around and I had no idea who you were, only that you were even more handsome than my new husband and you looked at me with something else in your eyes. Not lust, but..." 

"Love," he croaked. 

Of course he remembered the moment. He'd never forget it. It was the happiest moment of his entire life, the way she'd beamed at him. He'd spent the whole night working up the courage to dance with her, waiting until it would just seem like he was drunk and having a laugh. 

They'd danced, her in a lovely white dress and he in the ill-fitting suit, and he'd pretended that this was for them and that she was his and that all of this was love. It had been a bright, shiny, lovely illusion. And then it had been shattered. 

"I'm cursed, Charlie, you see." she was stroking his cheek. "Cursed to love the wrong brother. Cursed with the knowledge, the sight. The spirits tell me things, horrible things, but it's the truth. I can't hide from it. I can't will it away. And even when I'm traveling, the second I stop, it catches up with me." 

"We can keep traveling," he promised. Damn the yard. Damn everything. He'd get them a wagon and horses and they'd go. He'd drive all night if it meant that she'd be alright. "Regina, I'd do anything - I'll do anything - I need, I need..." 

"The gypsy blood in me sings, Charlie." she leaned forward, her lips brushing over his cheek. "It sings in you too, I can hear it." 

"Don't go." he was begging like a child, like a little boy again. "If you can't stay for me, stay for the children." 

"They'll have you, and Polly. They'll be better for it." she had the faraway look in her eyes again. "All of the Shelby determination, none of the devilment. You'll do it better than I can, Charlie." 

"You'll want to see them married," he encouraged her. "John's got that girl, the one he likes so much. And Ada, imagine her as a bride. She'll be lovely, just like you were. You have to stay here with us for that, Regina." 

"I'll always be here with you, Charlie." her eyes were twin pools, water that she'd drag herself under. He felt like he was the one drowning now. "I'm always with you."

It wasn't so bad for a moment. He managed to get her into bed then stayed up smoking and worrying. She had a bad spell again the next day, refusing to come out from under the covers or eat anything. At least the children were gone with Polly and Curly could well mind the yard. One less thing for him to fret over. 

Then there was a moment of hope. She was lucid again, aware of where she was and who he was, asking for a bit of tea and some eggs, nibbling on them like a little bird. Neither of them say anything about what they'd discussed before, though he turned the words over and over in his mind like a favored toy. 

What if they could start over? He was too old for a wife. Certainly for children. And she'd already had five. She'd be sooner to grandchildren before having another of her own, but that was alright. He'd practically raised her brood anyways. And of course the church would frown on it, the divorce and the marriage to a brother, bastard though he was. But fuck the church. They'd do it the old way. 

He loved her. He loved her even though she was mad, even though she was low. It just made her who she was, the child of gypsies and gods. So what, she saw spirits and ghosts? He loved her just the same, same as he always had since she was a girl and he a lovestruck fool. 

He could talk her out of it. He stayed up with her, stroking her hair when she cried. Tried to listen, really listen, when she talked nonsense. Bodies and eyes in the trees, watching them. The way that she looked round corners, telling him it was to trick the devils and the spirits. The things she told him, everything that she did to try and survive in a world that didn't understand or want her. 

But he did. And he was trying, trying to show her that he loved her. Would treat her right. Whatever she needed, he'd do. She needed to cry, he'd let her cry. If she wanted to salt the windows to keep out demons, he'd do it without a second thought. Anything to make her feel safe, to bring back that pretty little smile of hers. And for a day or two, it seemed like it was going to work.

Then it all went wrong. 

"Regina?" he woke up, bleary eyed and exhausted. He'd been up half the night, watching her sleep. She seemed to dream for most of it, limbs twitching and eyes moving back and forth beneath her eyelids. Maybe she was a creature from another world, lost over here. When he'd finally dozed off with her in his arms, it had been a light, restless sleep, filled with worry. And now, in the early light of the morning, she was gone. 

He didn't bother with shoes or a coat or a cap. He just ran, ran like dogs of hell were on him. Right to the cut. Right to where he knew he'd find her standing, in her nightgown. She was barefoot, hair down and loose, an angel amongst the filth. She looked almost bridal. And she was on the other side, where he could not reach her. Where he could not stop her or save her. 

It felt fitting. 

"Charles." she looked up before he had a chance to say a word. She never called him by his full name. Just like he only ever used her full name. 

"Please." the words were wretched from him, caught in the early morning haze. This was all a dream. It couldn't be real. "Regina... Please." 

"I'm with you, always," she told him, smiling. "And the children. Tell them I love them. Polly knows I'll be there, never too far. She sees, same as me. She just likes it less." 

"Regina, I love you." the words came out properly for once. Truth, finally out there, some twenty odd years too late. She reached across the chasm for him. But she was too far. _"Please."_

"It should've been you." the smile on her face was too calm, too controlled. "If it had been you, maybe this would all be different. But I am who I am. Would you love me if I were any less?" 

He didn't have an answer for her. How could he? He only had one final card to play. 

"I'll go with you." the words made him feel hollow. But there was already such little joy in this life, such little beauty. If she was gone, would there be anything at all left? He could go with her and all of this would be solved. 

"It's not your time." she shook her head. "There will be more for you. Thomas is going to need you, him more than the others. He's too like me. And Polly. They'll all need their family. But not me. It's alright, Charlie. I'll be alright. And you will too." 

"Regina..." his heart was breaking, shattering apart. 

"I love you too," she stated and he closed his eyes against the pain. Too late. Perhaps he was cursed too. "I won't be far, Charlie. You'll carry me within you. It's just a step." 

There was nothing more he could do but stand and witness her. Her little smile, the way she tilted her face to sky one last time, and then she lifted her arms high and... Stepped. 

For just a moment, when she hovered there, he saw her as she was. 16 and beaming, lovely as the day was long. 

_And then she was gone._

* * *

"If it's Barney you're worried about, he's sleeping. But I can't sleep because my fucking leg is cracked." Charlie didn't look up when Tommy walked in, just kept watching the rain pour down. The pain wasn't that bad. He was used to pain. It was the voices in his head, the voices that never stopped going.

"Tell me how my mother went, Charlie," Tommy ordered and he stared at him in confusion, wondering why this was being brought up now.

"You know. She drowned." she'd been gone two days before they came back from the fair. He'd never seen Tommy even shed a tear. As far as he was aware, life had just carried on for him.

"I know it wasn't by accident." Tommy took a deep breath, then uncorked the little bottle he always carried with him, chugging down half the contents. "Tell me the truth, Charlie."

"The truth, Tommy, yeah?" anger filled him, as it always did when he thought of the girl Tommy looked so much like. Ignoring the pain, he rose and took the bottle from him, drinking down the rest and smashing the bottle in the fire. "The fucking truth. Fuck's sake." it still broke his heart, all these years later. Talking about it was reliving it, every last second. "She just stepped into the canal. Your dad was no use. It was me trying to stop her, for three days. In the end, she did it anyway."

"Did she say why?" Tommy asked, tonelessly. 

  
"Nothing that made sense," he replied bitterly, thinking of her madness, her nonsense and ramblings. He'd tried to make things better. He'd tried and in the end, she'd left him still. 

  
"Tell me the things that didn't make sense." Tommy was still staring into the fire. Charlie sighed, thinking of what she'd said to him. That Tommy would need him. 

"She said it were the gypsies made the nails for Jesus's cross. That's why we're cursed and restless," he started reluctantly. He'd seen the same caged look in Tommy's eyes that he'd once seen in his mother's. Not of this Earth. Someplace they didn't belong.

"Yeah, go on," Tommy ordered, when he hesitated. 

  
"You have to move around or the guilt catches up with you. I said, "Well, why not go on the road for a bit?" She went to Worcester. She came back with a white pony." he stared out over the scrapyard. He could still picture her in the exact spot. He could still remember everything and she'd made good on her promise. She was always here with him, never too far away. Then he turned back, to face Tommy. "That one she gave to you. You used to ride it round, remember? She seemed happy for a bit, watching you ride it. And then she was gone. None of it made any sense. Afterwards, whenever I looked at that white pony, I saw her. 

"You see, I was in love with her, Tom. No-one knew but me. Broke my fucking heart to pull her from the cut." he stared into the fire, trying to block out the memories of dark and cold water, of still and blue lips. The beautiful fairy girl, the witch, the madwoman. Gone. Then he turned to Tommy, pointing his finger at him. "You know, your grandfather, he went the same way. Suicide. Sometimes, these things run in the family." he grabbed his shoulder, remembering the way he'd grabbed Regina, tried to tether her to a world she could not bear. "Fuck family, Tom. You just have to get on with it. You're a Gypsy. You have to move around, or it all catches up with you."

Tommy nodded, but Charlie saw it there, in his eyes, in his face. The same strange, flittering look. The genius that had propelled him to his place in life, that determination and will, walked hand in hand with the madness and the devilment of his family. The blood, she'd called it. The gypsy blood sang to him, same as it had her. 

Same as it did Charlie. 

**Author's Note:**

> reviews are love, kindness, and fun!


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